I found myself
A lonely heart
Above that gulf
That separates
The easy rhythms of life
From whence madmen depart

Under the misty blue gods above
And the rocky certainty below
I searched long for that biblical dove
Whose seeds of olive, her grace would sew
And the chaos that perplexed me so?

When does a body, heart and mind
Intertwine
In that ceremony
With which, blessed with good grace and fate
Procreate
Perfect Humanity?

It cannot simply be actions

For fierce words and wounds

Are dealt by nature’s hand
Beyond human extravagance

It cannot be the thinking spot
Where the mind is hidden
As our ancestors and ape alike
Indulge with the imagined

It cannot be history
To which all atomic
Ferocity is given
To which our Germ
Is simply pandemic

In fact, once material matter has melted
Back to the soil from which it cultivated
We are each much like the forgotten fables
And the Fortunate are the stories told

So, indeed Bill Shakespeare said it best
We, being players in History’s test
To know who will fade with age
And what remnants will remain
May be to ruin life’s homage
And the stories to be gained

Image via Wikipedia